


What to Expect When You're Expecting Execution: A Guide by Merlin and Arthur

by fictionalinfinity (orphan_account)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (But also NOT REALLY), (but not really), Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lancelot Lives, Merlin Dies (Merlin), Merlin makes bad decisions, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Not Really Character Death, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, arthur reacts badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fictionalinfinity
Summary: Arthur learns the truth, and reacts badly. Merlin decides the only way he can still protect Arthur is to die. This is what happens when you don't communicate well.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 393





	What to Expect When You're Expecting Execution: A Guide by Merlin and Arthur

“Is there really no sign of him?” Arthur asked, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. They’d been scouring the woods for days in search, but so far nothing had proved successful. Arthur had journeyed with them for the first few days when the search began, but Agravaine had insisted that he stay back and continue his work for the kingdom. 

The knights had continued without him, of course, but their searches proved fruitless. The king was beginning to fear the worst. 

“No, Sire. The only place we haven’t yet seen to is the Valley of the Fallen Kings. We wanted your permission to search the area before we attempted anything,” Leon spoke respectfully, but Arthur could hear the note of worry in his loyal knight’s voice. Behind Leon stood the other knights. Lancelot looked unsure of himself, while the others were just worried. Gwaine looked the most distressed of them all, his hands constantly shifting and his eyes roaming the room, avoiding settling on just one thing. Arthur wished he had a way to calm them, but he was just as on edge. 

“Of course. You can depart right away. I think I’ll join you in fact,” Arthur replied, setting the documents he’d been holding down and standing up, having decided that Agravaine would just have to deal with it. Arthur couldn’t keep sitting idly by. 

“Yes, Sire,” the knights replied, bowing their heads stiffly and shuffling out of his room. Arthur sighed, going to throw his set of chainmail over his head and prepare to ride out. Fastening his armor was already proving a challenge. Merlin’s absence weighed heavy over him, especially as he tried to do all of the manservant’s jobs without him. He hadn’t realized quite how much he relied on him until he was gone. 

Oh, Merlin. 

Arthur didn’t know if he could ever repair what had been done. He had to try, though. 

The halls were quieter than they usually were as he walked through them and down towards the courtyard. Passing servants avoided his eyes and scurried by him without as much as he peep. Conversations halted when he neared. Arthur held back a sigh, desperate to have Merlin back at his side, where he belonged. He knew that now. He wished he’d understood it two weeks ago. 

When he reached the courtyard, the knights waited for him. As always, they travelled with Merlin’s mare, just in case they found him. At first it had been a hopeful sign on their journey, but now it proved a stark reminder that they had yet to find Merlin, and might not ever. 

“Ready?” Arthur asked, watching as his knights fiddled with their mounts and gear. Elyan greeted him with a tense smile, while Percival and Leon nodded in his direction. Lancelot fiddled with his hands, so unlike the usually sweet and noble man. Gwaine refused to meet his eyes, instead glaring at something in the distance. 

“Whenever you are, Sire,” Leon replied. 

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Arthur answered, mounting his horse and directing it towards the gate. The others were quick to follow, and soon they were out of the citadel and scouring the forests on their way towards the Valley of the Fallen Kings. 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do if we find him?” Elyan asked a little ways into their journey. The question immediately set a heavy silence over the group. Arthur found that all eyes were on him, waiting to see what he would say. 

“When, not if,” Percival corrected. 

“Yes, thank you. _When.”_ Elyan agreed. Gwaine nodded his head in agreement. 

Arthur thought about the question. _Did_ he know what he was going to do? 

“I’m not sure I’ve figured that part out yet, actually,” Arthur sighed. “I’m still furious, but… He should have a chance to explain himself,” he concluded. 

“Fuck you, Arthur,” Gwaine growled suddenly. Arthur’s eyes widened, and he turned toward the knight who had spoken the vulgar outburst. 

“Excuse me?” He asked, almost laughing. The other knights looked between the pair, anxious to see what would happen. Arthur himself didn’t even know. 

“I meant what I said,” Gwaine spat. “You say you want to give him a chance to explain himself? Too little, too late. You should have thought of that before you nearly took his head off with that damn sword,” he continued, gesturing to the sword at Arthur’s hip.

Arthur swallowed uncomfortably. He remembered the way he’d swung it viciously that day, how he’d gone home and cleaned the blood off of it himself. It had been almost like a trophy to him. He had the urge to hurl the cursed blade far away, but part of him refused. What if it became one of his last connections to Merlin? It could serve as a reminder for him to be… well, Arthur hadn’t gotten there yet. 

“You can’t speak to the king that way-” Leon tried, but Gwaine held his hand up and cut him off.

“I’ll speak to him however I please, when he’s the reason we even need to be looking for Merlin at all.”

Lancelot cleared his throat awkwardly. “We might not find him at all, Sire. Merlin is quite good at… not being found, if he doesn’t want to,” he offered, almost as if to prepare him for the inevitable. Arthur didn’t dare give the comment with a response.

No one spoke after that. Arthur could see the conflict in his knights’ eyes. A part of them knew that Gwaine spoke the truth, but they also had their duties to their king. They were also well aware that Lancelot spoke the truth as well, though they didn’t want to believe it.

When they finally did reach the Valley, the tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. The men watched for every movement and scanned the area minutely, hoping against hope that maybe they would finally find Merlin. 

The place evoked many memories. How often had Merlin and Arthur traveled through here, with Arthur none-the-wiser to the truth that lurked beneath? How many times had Merlin predicted that something was about to go wrong, and he had been right? Was it because of…?

No, he couldn’t think of that right now. It only served to make Arthur’s blood boil. Best to hear the man out before he made any assumptions and repeated their last encounter. 

“There’s a trail of prints!” Elyan called from atop his horse. Arthur looked up, surprised to hear that something had been spotted. They made their way over to examine them.

“They don’t look fresh,” Percival added.

“It looks like his boot size, too,” Gwaine said. Arthur looked at them closer and realized the two of them were right. 

“Lots of men wear Merlin’s shoe size,” Leon countered, and Gwaine looked up to glare at him. 

“Yeah, but how many men do you know that would be travelling through the Valley, shall we say… a week ago, by the look of these, alone? Not many,” Gwaine threw back, silencing Leon. “It’s at least worth a look.”

Without another word, Gwaine forced his horse into a gallop alongside the tracks. Arthur followed a moment later, eager to see where the tracks led.

By the time his other knights caught up behind him, Gwaine was well ahead of the group. Then, it happened. 

“Merlin! _No, no, no…”_

Arthur’s heart lodged itself in his throat. Had they found him at last? What had happened that had upset Gwaine so?

He forced his horse to quicken it’s pace until he too finally arrived and understood. 

Arthur’s ears started to ring. Muffled exclaims of horror reached him from behind. He quickly threw himself off of his horse and stumbled forward, his legs shaking so badly he could barely hold himself up.

“It can’t be…” Arthur found himself whispering, but it didn’t change anything. 

Merlin was on the ground, his expressionless eyes wide open and staring up at the sky. Dried blood left trails from the corners of his mouth and his ears, pooling thickly on the forest floor. His skin was tinged green, almost turning red, and his body was swollen from decay. 

And there, in his heart… 

A sword. 

Arthur dropped to his knees in that moment. His chest felt so tight he didn’t even bother to try and take a breath. His hands shook so furiously, in a way they hadn’t since the first time he’d killed a man. Everything around him seemed to slow down and all he could see was _Merlin._

He felt… empty. Broken. _Lost._

“Damn it!” Gwaine roared, stabbing his sword into the ground. He bit down on his fist in an attempt not to scream. _“Damn it all!”_

The four other knights were frozen were they stood, gazing at the body in horror. After a moment, Lancelot averted his eyes, looking almost guilty, as if he thought he was to blame.

“What…” Arthur began, breathless and confused. “Why…?”

Gwaine’s head snapped towards him so quickly that he could hear his neck cracking. He inhaled sharply and his eyes narrowed. _“You!”_

Seconds later, Gwaine was launching himself at Arthur. The king didn’t even have time to move out of the way before Gwaine’s hand clawed his face. It stung, and he saw in his peripheral as blood started to pool. 

Arthur sat there numbly. Gwaine moved to strike him again, but Percival made quick work of him, grabbing him under his arms and holding him close against his chest.

“You bastard!” Gwaine screamed, his hair flying all over his face as he fought to free himself. “Let me go! Let me go! You killed him!” He barked. 

Arthur flinched at the accusation. Gwaine was right. Arthur had driven Merlin to his death. This was _his_ fault. He couldn’t stop himself as tears pooled and ran down his cheeks. 

Percival continued to hold Gwaine back while Leon moved quietly around them, unclasping his cloak and wrapping it around Merlin’s body after throwing the sword away. Arthur couldn’t help the sob that escaped him as the knight gently closed Merlin’s eyes. 

“Sire,” Elyan spoke softly, offering him a hand up. Arthur accepted it, never once taking his eyes off of the outline of Merlin’s form. “We’ll take care of him,” Elyan promised, and Arthur barely managed a nod. 

Slowly he made his way over to his own horse, watching in horror as Merlin’s body was placed atop his horse one last time. 

“How did he…?” Lancelot trailed off, disbelieving at the sight before him. “I didn’t think he would actually…”

Percival had managed to calm down Gwaine enough, coaxing him up onto his horse. Gwaine wiped tears away fiercely but it was all in vain. 

“Let’s take him home,” Leon said. Percival and Elyan nodded.

“How are you going to tell his mother?” Gwaine asked, his voice sounding far away. 

“I don’t… I can’t…” Arthur stumbled, his mind unable to even comprehend it. 

“Give him a moment, won’t you?” Lancelot sighed, moving his horse to occupy the space beside Arthur and protect him. Arthur didn’t think he deserved the kindness.

They didn’t speak to each other the whole way home, and Arthur refused to speak to anyone once they reached the citadel. Gwen met them on the stairs, a hopeful expression on her face that melted into horror as she spotted the body.

The people cleared the way for them, but Arthur found it hard to ignore the subtle murmur that surrounded the castle as people spoke hushed words to one another. He marched right up the stairs to escape it all and went directly to his bedroom, desperate to pretend none of this was happening. 

-

Merlin received a hero’s funeral. Arthur wanted to give him that, at least. 

The people hadn’t been told how or why Merlin had died, only sharing the truth with his mother. Arthur and Guinevere had personally escorted Hunith all the way from Ealdor after telling her the news. 

As the fire dwindled down and the ashes were beginning to be swept up by the wind, only Merlin’s closest friends and family remained. Although, could Arthur still be allowed to call himself Merlin’s friend? He didn’t think so. 

Lancelot, Gaius and Hunith stood by themselves, faces drawn and eyes pensive. Of course they would stand together. Gaius and Hunith were family, and Lancelot had often checked in on Hunith during his banishment at Merlin’s request. The pair of them had gotten to know each other in that time, surely. On top of that, Lancelot had spent every spare moment he had with Merlin, which tended to take place around Gaius. 

Arthur supposed he was glad they had each other, although they did look rather odd throughout the funeral. They whispered to one another occasionally, but their gazes never strayed from the body, looking lost. 

Elyan had his arm around Gwen, whose face was buried in her hands. Leon and Percival stood behind the pair, heads bowed respectfully.

Gwaine was an enigma. He stared stoically at the flames, wearing a permanent scowl. Neither Arthur nor Gwaine had spoken to each other since the fateful day when they had found Merlin’s body, but the king had a sneaking suspicion that Gwaine would be headed towards the tavern after this and wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

As the flames finally died out, everyone dispersed to mourn on their own, until it was just Gwaine and Arthur standing there. 

The sky rumbled and rain began to pour. Only then did Gwaine finally turn to leave. On his way past, the knight slammed his shoulder into Arthur’s and kept walking towards the lower town. Arthur couldn’t even find the energy to care. 

-

It was a few weeks later that Arthur finally found the courage to seek out Gaius and ask to hear about Merlin’s escapades. He had been either too nervous or too busy to follow through with the idea until then. 

As he approached Gaius’ chambers, he heard muted voices discussing something against the crackling backdrop of a fire. He paused, frowning and wondering who could be in there and why would they need to whisper. 

“Gaius?” Arthur knocked on the door tentatively. Immediately the voices quieted and he could hear something shuffling around the room. 

“Yes, Sire?” Gaius finally called, a pitch of anxiety to his voice. 

Arthur opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately he was hit with familiar scents that reminded him of Merlin. Despite that, the whole room felt off-kilter without the idiot’s presence. Gaius sat alone at a table, an open book in front of him. 

“Were you alone? I thought I heard voices,” Arthur commented curiously. Gaius shook his head.

“No, Sire, just… reading aloud, that’s all,” the physician explained, and Arthur nodded in understanding. “Can I do anything for you?”

Arthur paused, not having thought of what to say once he got this far. 

“I was wondering…” He began but trailed off, unsure of where to go next.

“Go on?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me something… about Merlin,” Arthur finished, looking down so he couldn’t see the expression on Gaius’ face.

“What would you like to know?” Gaius asked, his voice strained. Arthur winced but went ahead with his request anyway. 

“Anything, really. We never got the chance to talk after everything,” Arthur answered, thinking regretfully back on the way things ended. 

“Am I right in assuming you’d like to know about Merlin’s magic, Sire?”

“Yes.”

Gaius sighed and gestured for him to sit. Arthur acquiesced and pulled out a bench for himself. 

“I suppose the best place to start is the beginning,” Gaius opened and Arthur nodded in agreement. “You see, Merlin wasn’t quite like other magic users you’ve encountered. His case was a rare one.”

“How so?”

“Merlin was born with his magic.”

Arthur found himself leaning back in surprise. So Merlin had been telling the truth? 

“I believe he tried to tell me something akin to that…”

Gaius looked away awkwardly. “I suppose he would have.”

When Gaius didn’t say anymore, Arthur almost stood up to leave. Before he could, the old man spoke. 

“Because of the way he was born, it made him… different, although he wouldn’t have liked that word. He believed his magic didn’t make him different from anyone else. He had a destiny, though. A destiny he shared with you.” Gaius continued. 

“A destiny?” Arthur echoed, caught off guard by the word. “What destiny is it you speak of?”

“The prophecies spoke of the Once and Future King who would unite the lands of Albion and restore magic, and of Emrys, the warlock fated to guide and protect him. You, Arthur, are the Once and Future King, and Merlin is… er, was…”

“Emrys?”

“Indeed.”

Gaius went on to speak of Merlin’s childhood, one filled with magic, fear, and suspicion. Arthur found he couldn’t take the heartache of it all. The way it humanized a man he’d tried so hard to think of as a monster. He stood abruptly, wincing as the bench scraped loudly against the wood. 

“Arthur?” Gaius inquired, looking up at him. 

“I find myself tired, Gaius. I think I will retire. Thank you for your time,” Arthur spoke stiffly, trying to hold his voice steady. 

Gaius stood a moment later. “Of course. And should you ever desire to hear more…”

“Yes, thank you, Gaius,” Arthur gave a small nod before turning on his heel and fleeing the room. As much as he dreaded the discoveries he might make, he knew that he would have to find the strength to finally hear Merlin’s side of the story. 

-

As the next few months passed, Arthur noticed more and more of a separation forming in what once was his tight knit inner circle. They spent less and less time together and conversations didn’t pass between them easily. No one dared try to appear familiar with him in council meetings, and training sessions were about as boring and stiff as they had been almost five years ago. Gwaine was a rare sight as well, often not even bothering to show up to training. He was beginning to worry that the man might drink himself to death. 

Arthur was beginning to wonder if Merlin was the one thing that truly held them together after all. 

Without the bumbling servant, Arthur was painfully aware of all that Merlin had been doing for him. For the first time in years, he had to write his own speeches and put together outfits. He had to study his schedule and study the reports for council closer than ever before. Arthur had truly become accustomed to the ease Merlin brought into everyday life and only just began to realize how wise and well educated he must have been. 

Arthur had refused to take on a new manservant. Guinevere, however, had insisted on bringing up his meals and cleaning his chambers. Otherwise, Arthur might have genuinely starved to death in a horrid mess. 

Another thing that was becoming startlingly clear to him was how much he regretted his final words to Merlin, and his desire for change. Every day he missed the manservant more and more.

Ever since he had to start memorizing his schedule, Arthur was also aware of when he had free time. He’d started using the spare minutes to visit Gaius and ask questions about Merlin. Sometimes when he got the answers, Arthur felt like he’d hardly known the man. Other times, the answers were just so… _Merlin_ that the king could have predicted what the man had done. 

That was where he was at the moment. Gaius was stood over the fire tending to a cauldron full of stew while Arthur sat at the table, fiddling with an empty bowl and a spoon. The physician was going to make him Merlin’s favorite meal. 

“Here we are,” Gaius smiled once it was served. Arthur swallowed a spoonful and smiled. 

“It’s good,” he replied, wondering how many times Merlin had enjoyed this meal after a long day. How many times he and Gaius had chatted over a meal like this. What it would have been like if Arthur had gotten to join them one day. 

“My parents gave me the recipe. I taught it to Hunith, who often cooked it for Merlin growing up. I tried to make it at least once a week for him. I’m not entirely sure what his favorite part of it was, but… he always asked for it,” Gaius explained, and Arthur nodded. 

Arthur enjoyed a few more bites in silence before he worked up the courage to ask the question he’d been wanting to all day. The one he’d finally let his mind open up to.

“Gaius?” Arthur began.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you… Did you speak with Merlin, before he…?”

Gaius froze, his eyes going wide. He carefully pushed the bowl of soup out of the way and turned his direction solely on Arthur. Clearing his throat, he began to reply.

“As a matter of fact I did, Sire,” Gaius spoke solemnly, but there was an edge to his voice. 

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat. What had been said? What had Merlin told Gaius of their confrontation? How had they spoken? Through _magic?_

“He used his magic to return to the castle before you did, and he was gone before you ever even arrived, but we spoke,” Gaius continued, and Arthur nodded. He was enraptured, barely able to breathe. 

“Merlin told me what happened and he told me of what he planned to do,” he finished.

Arthur stood up so quickly he almost flipped the table over. 

“You knew that he was going to kill himself?” 

Gaius froze guiltily, as if knowing he’d said too much. 

Arthur’s voice broke. “You knew he was going to kill himself and you did _nothing?”_

“Of course not!” Gaius began anxiously. “I tried to dissuade him from it, of course, but you knew Merlin. When he had his mind set on something, he was not easily moved-”

Tears burned at the back of his eyes. “Still! You should’ve found a way to stop him, told someone, anything!” He gasped, his chest feeling so tight he could barely take in air. 

“Sire,” Gaius tried.

“No,” Arthur cut him off. “It seems I was wrong. I am not the only one who carries the blame for his death. Merlin deserved better than the both of us.”

The words were spoken in anger, and part of him knew that Gaius likely couldn’t have done anything. If he _had_ told someone of Merlin’s plans, Arthur would’ve likely dismissed it in those days. Hell, he might’ve even been _pleased._ But now… the idea that something else could’ve been done broke him. 

Arthur hadn’t even been given the chance to save Merlin. He had driven his dearest friend to his grave.

“I… I need time. Good evening, Gaius,” Arthur said finally, swiftly removing himself from the place that had brought him so much comfort in the past months, but now seemed so unwelcoming to him. 

-

Arthur hadn’t gone back to Gaius since that night. He didn’t think there was much else the old physician could tell him anyway. 

It had been another few weeks, and now Arthur found himself trapped inside a boring council meeting. They were running over the grain reports for what felt like the millionth time. 

“The crop has done particularly well this season, Sire. Almost alarmingly so, in fact…” An older councilman from Uther’s time spoke, his eyes narrowing as he read something on the report that must have bothered him. “The numbers are unprecedented. I haven’t seen anything like it since, well, before the Purge! Even then, nothing like this...”

That caught Arthur’s attention. 

He’d been studying reports of the Purge more in depth since Merlin, well… That was beside the point. He’d been studying anything written about Camelot before and shortly after Arthur’s own birth. The two generations had been greatly varied. 

Arthur had gone to great lengths to find the information. He’d spent weeks scouring the library, repeatedly coming up empty handed, before he finally gave in and asked Geoffrey for any idea where he might find any. Arthur remembered the encounter well. 

_(Arthur had never been fond of studying. As a young boy he’d always preferred his training on the battlefield, and Uther had only encouraged it. So, he’d never developed that enjoyment of reading that some nobles seemed to have. It didn’t matter, though. He was going to do this._

_For Merlin._

_“Geoffrey?” He asked, getting the librarian’s attention._

_“Yes, Sire?” Geoffrey replied, setting his book down and rising to his full height. “How can I be of service?”_

_Arthur swallowed, finding the courage to put his wish to words. “I’d like you to bring me everything you have about magic that escaped the Purge. Everything.”_

_Geoffrey’s mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish. “M-my lord! Surely you can not mean that-” he stuttered. “B-besides, your father ensured nothing survived. You will not find anything here!” Geoffrey insisted._

_Arthur sighed, exasperated. “Don’t lie to me, Geoffrey. I know perfectly well you and Gaius both kept a selection. You won’t be in any trouble, I promise, but I need those books. I’m doing some… research. I believe some of my laws to be unjust,” the king explained._

_Geoffrey stood there silent for a moment before something in his face relaxed, and he offered Arthur a little smile. “Of course, my lord. Right away,” he said, before hurrying off to collect the books._

_Finding himself a seat, Arthur looked over his options once they’d been set before him. He perused the titles, grabbing one that caught his eye. A record of court sorcerers and their service done in the name of Camelot._

Good choice, _a voice in his head whispered, but it wasn’t his own. Arthur frowned, wondering what that could_ mean. _)_

It was claimed in the reports that Camelot’s court sorcerers had spelled the fields, ensuring a fruitful harvest each season and protecting the precious crop from the elements. Camelot had prospered under their aid, not a single person ever having to worry about where their next meal came from. The harvests had just been _that_ bountiful. 

The grain reports from during and after the Purge had changed so drastically it almost reminded him of when Arthur had killed the unicorn, cursing the crop to die. Uther had claimed that if crop loss was one of the ‘prices of doing business’ of the Purge, then so be it. Arthur had his doubts about that mentality, but he hadn’t made up his mind… yet. 

“Since the Purge, you say?” Arthur asked, pretending to oblivious. He’d rather the council didn’t know he was doing his own research on the subject.

“Yes, Sire,” Agavaine said. “Sorcerers were once responsible for ensuring growth of crops, but such practices have long since been outlawed. There is no way of telling how corrupted such crops were because of the taint of magic! This number would suggest another one is at work.”

“Should we send for a witch hunter, Sire?”

“I would happily lead the charge if you so wished, Arthur,” Agravaine added quickly and bowed his head, seeming all too eager for the chance. 

Just as another man was about to speak, one of the windows above them blew open. A strong gust of wind blew the reports out of the man’s hand and sent them spinning through the air. They settled peacefully on the round table in front of him. 

Arthur picked up the papers, prepared to return them to the councilmen but he stopped himself. The parchment felt strangely warm in his hands and when he looked down, his eyes widened. 

Words scrawled on the top of the reports, appearing as if someone was standing over his shoulder and writing them down in that exact moment. _Magic._

Arthur almost threw the reports down then and there out of habit, but he managed to stop himself. That would’ve looked suspicious to the council men. As it was, Leon and Elyan were already looking at him strangely. 

He eyed the words carefully. There in perfect penmanship read,

_Would you condemn someone for wanting to help people?_

As soon as Arthur finished reading, the words faded away until nothing remained. For a moment, Arthur wondered if he’d imagined them entirely. 

No, too many things made sense for them to have been a figment of imagination. The perfectly placed breeze, the warmth of the paper, and the fact that the numbers themselves suggested magic so strongly. Yes, the words had been real. A sorcerer was attempting to reach out to him. 

“Sire?” Agravaine asked, breaking his reverie. 

“Ah, yes,” Arthur smiled tightly, handing over the papers. “I figured I might as well see the numbers for myself while I had them. They are indeed quite remarkable.”

  
  


-

A few weeks later saw Arthur training a fresh batch of recruits for knighthood, trying his best to carry on as normal. His armor was settling on him strangely, the straps not done just quite right, but it had been like that since Merlin’s death. Arthur insisted he put the armor on himself, wouldn’t let anyone even _touch_ it. He didn’t want anyone trying to replace Merlin. 

No one could replace Merlin.

Ever. 

Arthur stopped mid swing to adjust his armor, aggravated as it slipped awkwardly. He pulled the straps taught once more and attempted the swing again. 

Once more he felt the armor loosen, but when he looked down to fix it everything was in perfect order. Almost _too_ perfect. The straps were all done up properly, and Arthur noticed the peculiar absence of a scuff he’d been working on for days to get rid of with no luck. 

It was gone, as if by magic. In the distance, someone laughed. 

  
  


-

Arthur used to enjoy going to the taverns, before Merlin died. They’d drink and swap stories and laugh. He’d get just a bit too drunk and gamble just a bit too much, always somehow losing to Merlin (and really, how did _that_ happen? It had to have been the magic. Merlin was never that good). He liked how Merlin loosened up after a drink or two, like he’d taken some weight off of his back. He wasn’t a king, then. He was just a man having a good time with his very best friends. 

The tavern meant something else to him now. 

It was as good a place as any to drown his sorrows. He hadn’t been able to bring himself back to Gaius’ chambers ever since the old man’s admission. At least here, Gwen wasn’t always frowning at him, worrying about him. Here, he could just be sad, and no one expected anything of him. 

Looking up from his drink, Arthur noticed a rowdy pair enter the tavern. One of the men’s longer hair hid his face for a moment, but Arthur would recognize his voice anywhere. 

“A drink for me and my friend! We’re celebrating tonight!” Gwaine called to the barmaid, and then he and Lancelot navigated to a table of their own, not even noticing the morose king. 

Arthur took a moment to watch them as he hid behind his drink. Lancelot sported a gentle smile, but his eyes shone brightly. Gwaine’s smile was wide and energetic and he seemed genuinely joyful. Arthur hadn’t seen him look like that since before Merlin died. 

The pair of them talked quietly but excitedly, and Arthur couldn’t make out a word they said. He swallowed a sip of his drink bitterly. Why were they happy? How could they just forget about Merlin? How could they move on?

Arthur sighed. People were allowed to be happy, and to let things go. He knew this. He was glad his friends had made peace with it in the end. Arthur just didn’t think he could. 

He left a few coins on the table and quietly left. 

-

A few months later, Arthur found himself in his chambers, debating what to wear to the feast that evening. They were celebrating a nobleman’s birthday it seemed. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about what he was going to do about the ban on magic, though, so his heart wasn’t quite in the search. 

As he remained lost in these thoughts, something grabbed his attention. 

“Perhaps this one, your royal pratness?”

Arthur whirled around, shaking at the sound of the voice he hadn’t heard in almost a year. No one was in his chambers but himself he discovered as he searched the room hungrily for the source of the voice. 

Had he imagined it? Was he going crazy?

It had felt so good to hear Merlin’s voice. He desperately wanted it to be him. It couldn’t have been, though. 

Arthur’s gaze landed on the bed and he froze. On top of the sheets, an outfit was laid out, including a jacket, a belt, and a pair of boots of the floor beside the bed. 

Arthur was absolutely sure he hadn’t touched those clothes, let alone placed them there. 

So, what had happened?

Arthur donned the outfit anyway, deciding he’d sort out the mystery later. He went to greet his wife, linking his arm with hers and escorting her across the castle. Guinevere smiled up at him gently, and he could see the concern written all over her face. He offered her a smile in return, but it didn’t quite reach his face.

As they made to enter the feast, Arthur stopped right in his tracks. 

There, a man draped across his seat. He looked relaxed, and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He sported a beard that looked rather good on his, and his hair had grown to curl around his ears. He nodded, raising his goblet in a toast to the king. 

“Hello, Arthur,” Merlin grinned. “Miss me?”


End file.
